


The First Mistake

by LiviKate



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU- Teenlock, Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Brotherly Lestrade, But it's cute too, But mostly fluff, Crack, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Frottage, Greg being a really awesome guy, M/M, Misunderstandings, Oral Sex, Rimming, Second Chapter is all smut, Sibling Bonding, Teen Angst, Teenlock, Third chapter is all blow jobs, Virgin Sherlock, as much as Sherlock and Mycroft can bond, lots of cock sucking, lots of rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-01
Updated: 2014-03-05
Packaged: 2018-01-10 18:57:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1163298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiviKate/pseuds/LiviKate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock comes crashing into Mycroft and Greg's flat confused and crying after his first time with John doesn't go exactly as planned. Mycroft and Greg work to get the two teenagers back on the same page.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a cute little thought I had one day. I've been reading a lot of awesome Mystrade and I really like the idea of Mycroft and Greg helping Sherlock and John through their formative, teenage years. 
> 
> Lots of fluff, a little angsty. Hopefully even a couple giggles, too. Hope you enjoy, drop me a comment if you do :)
> 
> Also, sorry about the crappy title. I genuinely have no idea what to call this thing. If you get an idea, leave it in the comments, I might just use it!

“Mycroft! Lestrade! I am experiencing horrible sensations!” Sherlock Holmes shouted as he stormed into his brother’s flat, pushing aside bedroom doors that really ought to have been locked. If he was disturbed by the fact that his brother was face down and arse up on the bed with his boyfriend on his knees behind him, rimming him within an inch of his life— the teen didn't say anything.

Despite the unison shouts of his name by both of the naked men, Sherlock flounced over to his brother’s dressing chair and collapsed into it, arm thrown over his head, groaning like he was dying. He felt as if he were.

“Seriously, Sherlock?” Greg Lestrade shouted. “Get the fuck out! We’re a little busy right now.” He hurriedly covered himself with his lover’s dressing gown. Mycroft dove beneath the covers, his face and chest red and glistening with sweat. The sixteen year old groaned again, and Greg was more than slightly discomforted at how much the younger boy sounded like his brother had just moments before.

“John and I had coitus,” the youth said from underneath his arm.

“Oh, shit,” Lestrade sighed. He collapsed back on the bed for a moment. He needed a moment to mourn the erection that was steadily dying. When he had properly said his goodbyes, he reached for his jeans and made to slide from the bed.

“Gregory? What are you doing?” Mycroft asked. “Stay in bed, he’ll leave.” Sherlock was treated to one of Mycroft’s most intimidating stares. Oddly enough, they don’t work nearly as well when the recipient is busy being a drama queen and refusing eye contact. But, that might also have had to do with the large amount of nakedness in the room.

 Meanwhile, Mycroft was receiving a glare as well.

“C’mon, Myc, really?”Greg whispered, giving his lover a disapproving look. “Your brother just lost his virginity and it doesn’t look like it went very well. He came to us for help. When has that ever happened before?” Mycroft humphed in begrudging agreement, catching his dressing gown as Greg tossed it back to him, having pulled on his jeans and rounded the bed to sit before the troubled boy.

“Alright, kid. Tell me what's going on.”

The curly haired, lanky teenager rubbed his face with both hands, and Greg got only a glimpse of the real anguish marking the young man’s countenance.

“John and I engaged in coitus and after we finished he got very upset and left.”

 “Okay, why was he upset?” Greg asked.

“I don’t know!” Sherlock shouted miserably, arms thrown up in the air, searching the older boy’s face with big, sad eyes.

“Start from the beginning, Sherlock,” Mycroft sighed in a very put-upon way, sliding across the bed to wrap himself around his lover from behind. Greg slapped his hand reproachfully, eyes still on the younger genius, encouraging him to continue.

 “We were my room at the manor, working on an experiment on feline mucus,”

 “How romantic,” Mycroft added rather unhelpfully. Sherlock glared at him before continuing.

 “John kissed me, and the experiment wasn’t time-sensitive, so I kissed him back, and he pushed me onto my back and then his put his hand down my—”

 “Okay, stop! Stop!” Greg said, hands up and blushing pink. “Why don’t you just skip ahead to, uh,” he cleared his throat. “Afterwards.” Sherlock huffed but obliged. 

“We were laying there…” Sherlock trailed off.

“Cuddling?” Greg supplied with a grin.

“I don’t use the word ‘cuddling,’” Sherlock sneered.

“We were,” Sherlock began again. “We were… _basking in the afterglow_ , as it were, and I got up to get my notebook from the floor and John asked me what I was doing and I told him I wanted to enter my findings while they were fresh in my mind and he got very angry and asked me what I meant and I told him that I had new data and had to write it down in the chart I had prepared and he got all quiet the way he does when he’s cross with me and I asked why he was upset and he said he wasn’t and I asked if he was going to cry, because it appeared as though he was, and he said no very forcefully but that seemed to only make it worse and then he got dressed and left without saying goodbye and I don’t know what I did wrong! I thought it all went really well but somehow I hurt John’s feelings and I don’t even know what I did and I don’t know how to fix it and I have been led to believe that this was one of those pinnacle relationship moments and now I’ve ruined it, and by ruining it I've ruined everything and I don’t even understand how! I don’t know what I did wrong!” Sherlock ended screaming and red-faced and angry, frightened tears had begun streaking down his cheeks.

 “Okay, Sherlock, you’ve got to calm down for a second,” Greg said, running a hand down his face as the tragic teen took a gulping breath. “Now, please, for the love of God, tell me you did not take John’s virginity as an experiment.” 

“No!” Sherlock howled, knees pulling in tight to his chest. “It wasn’t an experiment! I keep data about every aspect of my relationship with John. It a case study, not an experiment! I know exactly how many beat per minute my heart was going the first time he held my hand. I've calculated exactly how many seconds passed between our first and second kisses. Down to the last thousandth of a second! I have kept a detailed record of our entire relationship and I thought that this would be a big milestone and that I should take as much data from it as I could!”

“Hey, it’s okay, don’t cry,” Greg said, sliding from the edge of the bed to his knees before the distressed teenager. Mycroft sat rigidly on the bed, watching tears stream down his brother’s face for the first time in nearly ten years. Sherlock Holmes _never_ cried. Especially not where Mycroft could catch him. Seeing the cool, clinical boy so distraught was foundationally terrifying for his elder brother.

“And besides, it wasn’t even his first time,” Sherlock said petulantly, his bottom lip poking out angrily, even as it trembled with emotion. “So I don’t even know why it matters so much. I don’t know what I did wrong,” Sherlock said quietly, looking resolutely at the blank wall before him, his chin quivering ever so slightly.

                “Alright, it’s okay, I think I know what went wrong.” Greg shared a significant look with Mycroft, seeing that he had made the connection as well. As per usual, it was the emotional element that left Sherlock in the dark.

“Brother, do you remember that experiment you did before you and John started dating? You took that girl from your class, Molly Hooper, out on a date, to catalogue her reactions to various interpersonal stimuli?” Mycroft prompted. Sherlock nodded his head slightly. The movement shook free the tears clinging to the boy’s thick lashes. “Do you remember how very upset John was with you? Do you recall what he said to “He said I should never experiment on people’s feelings and that I hurt Molly’s feelings by cultivating without reciprocating them.”

“Now, imagine how John would’ve felt when, directly after your first sensual tryst, you produced the notebook in which you keep all your _experiments_ to document your “ _findings_ ”?” Mycroft explained gently.

Greg isn’t sure that he wouldn’t have reacted the very same way.

Sherlock’s eyes grew wide in realization before squeezing shut again, his fists balling up and rubbing his face angrily. An agonized scream was pulled from the boy’s thin chest; high, desperate and choked with tears.

“I’ve ruined everything!” the boy-genius despaired. Mycroft watched with horror as his younger brother’s shoulders heaved with renewed sobbing. The sight was so fundamentally _wrong_ that Mycroft couldn’t stand another minute of it.

“Sherlock, stop crying, _right now_ ,” Mycroft ordered, standing from the bed and drawing his dressing gown tighter around him. His brother hiccupped once more before stopping the tears and looking up at him with watery eyes. “You have ruined nothing. There was a slight misunderstanding, nothing irreparable. If you wish to explain this properly to the boy, I will ensure that you get every chance to do so. Gregory will go track down young Mr. Watson and you and I will wait here for his delivery.”

The red-head received two nods; both wide-eyed and shocked, one damper than the other.

“Gregory, my dear, I assume you know John’s home address,” Mycroft prompted. Greg stood, grabbing his discarded flannel from the floor, quickly doing up the buttons and checking his pockets for phone, wallet and keys.

“He might not have gone home,” Sherlock said in a thin, wavering voice so unlike his usual, confident tone. “I’ll text you a list of places he likes to go.”

“Good, brother, order them appropriately.”

“Of course,” Sherlock sniffed, the arrogant effect lost due to the snot-sucking sound.

“Myc, walk me to the door?” Greg asked, shrugging into his jacket. Mycroft crossed the room to his partner, taking the offered hand. Greg nudged the bedroom doors shut and leaned in to whisper to his boyfriend. “You’re going to have to talk to him.”

“How do you mean?” Mycroft asked, confidence wavering in the face of having _‘the talk’_ he had thus far avoided with his brother.

“You know exactly how I mean,” his partner said with a not unkind look. “It might not have been John’s first time, but it definitely was Sherlock’s. And we don’t actually know what all that they _did_. He’s going to need someone to talk to.” The pair reached the door to the flat, and Greg pulled it open to lean against the door jam.

“What do I say to him?” Mycroft asked, looking over his shoulder at the slightly shuddering youth.

“Talk to him like you always do,” Greg said. “Maybe a little nicer, if you can manage,” he amended with a smile. “Hey, you can even tell him about our first time together, that might help him see where John’s coming from.”

“Ugh,” Mycroft groaned in distaste. “I already know far too much about how John has been coming lately.” His lover laughed and pressed a smiling his to his lips.

“Be back soon,” he promised.

 

“Hopefully with another emotional teenager in tow.”

“Never thought we’d be wishing for that,” Greg grinned, pressing another kiss to Mycroft’s lips before turned and heading for the lifts.

 

********

 

“I had to tell your mom you were having relationship problems,” Greg said, lowering himself to the ground next to the snuffling teen. “Didn't give her any details though.”

“Thanks,” John answered, his voice gruff with unshed tears.

“You want to talk about it?”

“What do you know?” John asked, leaning heavily back against his bed, shoulders slumping, one leg outstretched and braced against the wall, his head resting on the knee of the other. He stared resolutely at the floor before him.

“Just what Sherlock told me and Myc.” John looked at him with surprise. “Yeah, little guy came in, flooding our flat with tears and dramatics. Totally cock-blocked me.”

John huffed a sad, miserable laugh.

“He was crying?” John asked in a quiet voice. Greg nodded solemnly at the blonde.

“He didn't know what he did wrong.” The short, stout boy balled his fists in renewed anger.

“He experimented on me, that’s what he did.” The ire and hurt was evident in the young man’s voice. “He turned our first time into numbers and data. He even had a fucking chart ready in his stupid journal. The same journal he was scribbling in about cat snot!”

“He didn't mean it like that, John,” Greg began softly. 

“I don’t care how he _meant it_. It was our first time and he turned it into something else. I don’t even know if he really wanted to go that far! I started it, what if he only went along with it for the data? He said once that virginities were stupid and didn't actually mean anything, but I thought he was just saying that to seem cool!” John dropped his head, seemingly exhausted by the emotional turmoil his day had brought. A single tear fell to the light blue cotton of his rugby shirt. “I always felt like he was just acting like it didn't matter. I thought that he might’ve been, you know, intimidated. Like he didn't want to seem vulnerable because he was the virgin. But that’s not what matters,” John said, the strain of the day’s events evident in the slump of his shoulders. “It doesn’t matter that it was only Sherlock’s virginity. It matters that it was our first time! Together! And he acted like I didn't even matter. He acted like it could’ve been anyone else he did it with. I wanted him to give it to me because he wanted me to have it. Not because he was giving it up for science. I wanted it to mean that I was special to him.”

“Sherlock is mad about you, you know that,” Greg assured. “He’d never have done that with just anyone else! Remember how scared he got when you asked him out? And now, he’s fucking terrified that he’s done something he can never fix.” Greg insisted. “He came to Mycroft for help. You and I both know he’d never do that unless he thought it was of life-altering importance.”

John seemed to consider the idea, and Greg watched as some of the angry tension drained out of the boy. That was good, they were making headway. There was one thing, though, that still needed saying.

“So, that wasn’t your first time, then? Ever, I mean” Greg said, fidgeting under the weight of the conversation he felt obligated to have with the teen.

“No, it wasn’t,” John sighed. “Sherlock knows I’ve been with a couple people before.”

“A couple?” Greg asked, eyebrows raised. John just shot him a ‘don’t give me that look’ kind of look. “Fine, I won’t ask,” Greg grunted. “I just want to know that you’re safe. And if there has been _a couple_ ,” Greg said, emphasizing the plurality. “Then I want to make sure you’re clean and that Sherlock won’t have caught anything.” Greg’s face was now as red as John’s. But this was a conversation that had to be had. Even if Greg really wished it wasn’t him who had to have it.

“I’m pretty sure I’m clean,” John said, clearing his throat, the embarrassed flush beginning to work its way down his neck, too. “I don’t think anyone I’ve been with had anything. And it w-wasn’t… like that. W-with Sherlock.” His voice began to waver with nerves and embarrassment. “He couldn’t have c-caught anything” He cleared his throat again, looking in the complete opposite direction of his friend. “It was just, you know… frotting.”

“Yes, I’ve got the picture, you don’t have to say anything else,” Greg said, patting the youth on the back and fighting the grin that pulled at his lips at seeing the blonde boy so uncomfortable and awkward. Maybe he could do something for that.

“Hey, John?”

“Yeah?” he asked, still refusing to look at Greg.

“Guess what I was doing when Sherlock stormed into our flat today.” 

“What?” 

“I’ll give you a hint,” Greg said, smiling as John looked stubbornly at the wall in front of them.

After a moment, the teen finally looked at him, waiting.

“Well, my tongue was in Mycroft’s arse, for one thing.”

John’s face cracked into a smile and he let out a giggle. 

“Really? He asked on a laugh.

“Really,” Greg assured, shaking his head, laughing a little himself. “Fucking cockblock.”

The two boys laughed together for a couple more moments before Greg levered himself to his feet.

“C’mon, kid,” he said, pulling his keys from his pocket. “Let’s go see your idiot boyfriend.”

 

********

 

Sherlock and Mycroft sat silently on the edge of the bed, neither brother looking at the other. Both sat with their backs straight, hands fiddling in their laps. Mycroft opened his mouth to speak before closing it again. Several times.

“You are not a fish, nor are you underwater. Kindly cease attempting to filter-feed.” Sherlock said, his voice quiet but very much his own, biting tone.

“My apologies, brother,” Mycroft said with the kind of smile that could only be seen in his eyes.

“You feel compelled to educate me on the inner workings of sexual intercourse,” Sherlock supplied drily.

“No, I think I will leave the ‘inner workings’ for you to discover on your own,” Mycroft said. Both brothers smiled small, inappropriate smiles. “However, you are my brother, and very much like myself, you are very proud.”

“I don’t see how that enters into things,” Sherlock said stiffly.

“Your first time engaging in carnal activity is not something that should be taken lightly,” Mycroft said. “And believing in the importance of it is not a weakness.”

“Mummy says caring is _always_ a weakness.”

“It has been a very long time since Mummy was in love like we are.” Sherlock looked sharply at his brother following his quiet confession. It was not like Mycroft to make declarations of love. Sherlock relaxed a bit as he stared at his brother’s profile, softened somewhat by the ruffled hair, paisley dressing gown and gentle smile.

The brother’s sat in companionable silence for a moment longer.

“You said that John wasn’t a virgin, so you didn't think it would matter as much to him as it did to you,” Mycroft started.

“I didn't say that,” Sherlock said waspishly. Mycroft gave him a knowing look. After a moment of silent glaring the teen offered a slight shrug.

“Could that belief have affected your behavior in the aftermath?” Mycroft suggested lightly.

“Perhaps,” Sherlock mumbled. He took a deep, heaving breath, before saying all in a rush; “I thought that if I acted like it wasn’t important then John wouldn’t think I was being a baby for thinking that it was significant for our relationship.”

“But, Sherlock, my dear, when has John ever belittled any of the few emotions you chose to share with him?”

“I had not considered that,” Sherlock said. Or, at least, that’s what Mycroft thought he said. The whole sentence was rather mumbled and begrudgingly offered. The boy fidgeted awkwardly, and Mycroft struggled to find something else to say that wouldn’t push his brother over into defensiveness. The two Holmeses were actually communicating for once, and Mycroft was loath to let go of this diaphanous opportunity. 

“My first time with Gregory was not the _first time_ for either of us,” He offered carefully.

“I do not want to hear this.”

“Oh, I think you might. I believe it could offer insight into how your John might have been feeling on the matter.” There was a beat of silence. 

“Continue then, if you must.” Mycroft allowed a small smile, but it was gone before Sherlock caught it.

“We had been watching a movie at his old flat. When it became clear the direction in which the rest of the night would progress, Gregory stopped kissing me, stood up and began searching for the TV remote. I told him that it was fine, let it play. He said no, he had to turn it off first. I asked him why. He told me that he wanted our first time together to be about us and only us. And no action movie would be permitted to play in the background and intrude on our perfect moment.”

The brothers were quiet for a moment as Sherlock absorbed this information. Any other older brother would feel compelled to further explain the underlying message that story had held and the importance it had in the current situation. But Mycroft was fully aware that Sherlock needed no further explanation. He was a clever boy, his brother. He could put it together all on his own.

“You and Lestrade were having sex,” Sherlock stated bluntly. “When I came in, today.”

“Oh, yes. Yes, we were. I didn't think you noticed.”

“Of course I noticed, imbecile. I notice everything.”

“Well, you hardly seemed to care and you didn't seem inclined to leave.”

“I had more important things to be concerned about than your nakedness.”

Mycroft chuckled and Sherlock smiled wryly.

 “Do not worry yourself any longer, brother dear,” Mycroft said. “You have not lost John. I think it would take a great deal more for you to ever do that.” Coming from a Holmes brother, that was very much like a warm hug and an ‘I love you.’ Sherlock didn't say so, but Mycroft knew he took it as it was meant.

Just then they heard the key turn in the door. Sherlock leapt to his feet and spun around, taking one aborted step towards the two men who entered. Lestrade nudged John towards the nervous brunet. Mycroft, too, stood from the bed. He walked past the two awkward teenagers to slip an arm around his partner’s waist. He pressed his lips to his beloved’s and whispered an impromptu ‘I love you.’ Greg smiled, arms coming up to wrap the red-head tightly against him.

“Sherlock,” John began, but the named genius took a quick step forward and cut him off.

“No, John, please,” he said. “I’m sorry I made you feel like an experiment. Today, what we did, it was about us, and I never wanted you to think any different.”

“Why did you have that chart already made up and everything?” John asked, forced calm evident in his low and steady voice, his clenched jaw and his shaking hands.

“I anticipated that we might be taking that step soon,” Sherlock said haltingly, his cheeks hosting a pink blush.

“You mean you deduced,” John said with an unreadable expression, even for a Holmes. Sherlock didn't answer hi, his eyes searching his boyfriend’s face. John looked away. But when he looked back, he was smiling slightly. “You deduced that I was going to jump you?”

“I had hoped,” he replied in a hesitant but optimistic voice, an answering smile pulling at his lips.

The two teens stood there, grinning at each other shyly for a moment more before Sherlock cleared his throat, a nervous gesture that no one was used to seeing the boy do.

“The journal,” Sherlock started, his face heating again. “It’s not just for experiments. I've got copious amounts of data in there. About our relationship.”

“Like what?” the blonde asked, taking a step towards his boyfriend.

“Like, when we watched that scary movie together, I was keeping track of your heartbeat.” Another step.

“Why’d you do that?”

“So that when you said you weren’t scared I could prove you wrong by showing you when your heartbeat spiked the most,” The genius said with a smile. John laughed. Another step. Sherlock’s smile softened at the edges as he took another step towards his very best friend. “Would you like to know when your heart beat the fastest?”

“When?”

“Halfway through, during one of the non-scary parts,” Sherlock said, reaching out. “When I grabbed your hand and you kissed me.”

And the two boys did just that. John grabbed Sherlock’s outstretched hand, reeled him in and kissed him squarely on the mouth. If Sherlock whimpered when their lips met, his brother would never say. And if John held onto Sherlock like he could disappear at any moment, Lestrade didn't notice it.

Once the two older men saw a flicker of tongue between the teens’ mouths, however, something had to be said.

“Enough,” Mycroft barked. It was one thing, knowing his baby brother was being seduced and debauched. It was another entirely to watch it happen. “Both of you, out.”

Greg merely smiled as the two happy lovebirds slowly separated.

“He’s right, you two, get going. You’re still standing in my bedroom, and in case you’d forgotten, I was a little busy before all this drama happened.” Sherlock pretended to wretch, but quickly recovered as a giggling John Watson began pulling him to the door.

“Hey, Sherlock, you’re pretty good at science, right?” he asked, tugging on the genius’ hand. Sherlock scoffed in response. “For an experiment to be valid, don’t you have to have repeated trials?” The brunet swallowed hard before nodding his head rapidly and hurrying to the lifts behind his laughing lover.

Greg and Mycroft watched them leave, chuckling and grinning at each other.

“Remember when we were like that?” Mycroft asked, closing and locking the door behind the teenagers. “Scrambling and eager, more concerned about shirt buttons than taking proper breaths.”

“You say that like that’s no longer true,” Greg said lowly, a dark and smoldering smile on his face, stepping in close to his partner, pressing him back into the door. “Now, where were we?”


	2. Mystrade Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Remember when we were like that?” Mycroft asked, closing and locking the door behind the teenagers. “Scrambling and eager, more concerned about shirt buttons than taking proper breaths.”  
> “You say that like that’s no longer true,” Greg said lowly, a dark and smoldering smile on his face, stepping in close to his partner, pressing him back into the door. “Now, where were we?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, because of the lovely response I got from this fic, I did a thing. A Mystrade thing. This is an entirely porny thing. I may even have to change the rating for it. Anyhoo, I give thee nearly 2,000 words of pure smut.

_“You say that like that’s no longer true,” Greg said lowly, a dark and smoldering smile on his face, stepping in close to his partner, pressing him back into the door. “Now, where were we?”_

Mycroft’s pupils blew wide open, and he answered his lover’s smile.

“Perhaps you’d be kind enough to remind me?” he rumbled seductively, gazing at Greg with half-lidded eyes and tongue-moistened lips. 

“Oh, a reminder is what you want? A reminder?” Greg grinned wickedly. “Oh, I’ll remind you of exactly what we were doing before being so rudely interrupted.”

Mycroft leaned in for a kiss but Gregory was faster. Quick hands on slim hips had Mycroft turned around in an instant, his face and chest pressed harshly against the door. Dropping to his knees with a crack Greg ripped the belt through its loops, the leather snapping, before fisting his hands into trousers and pants, yanking them down to his thighs in one rough, angry pull.

Mycroft moaned as the fabric bunched and scraped over his skin. He made to look back over his shoulder, to gaze at his wily lover, but the hand spread between his shoulder blades told him he best stay put. Letting his forehead _thunk_ against the hard, whitewashed wood of the door the ginger tried to suppress a shiver as his Gregory licked a long, wet, sinfully hot stripe between the globes of his arse. 

He was unsurprisingly very unsuccessful.

“ _Gregory._ ”

Greg wasn’t pulling any punches either. He was pointedly rough as he dug his fingers into the milky flesh of his boyfriend’s ridiculously plush arse. He was merciless in his attack as he laved wet attention over Myc’s entrance. Without further warning, his firmed the tip of his tongue and drove it into the center of that gorgeous puckered circle. 

Mycroft yelped as his partner’s tongue reached impossibly deep inside of him. The logical bit of Mycroft’s brain that was still functioning reasoned that it couldn’t have been more than an inch inside his body, but by all that was good and Gregory in this world, the genius would’ve sworn he’d never been fucked deeper.

“Oh, God, oh fuck, nnnng, fuck, please,” Mycroft mewled, pressing back against the beautiful face buried in his arse even as the hand returned to his shoulder blades to shove his chest back into the door. Greg worked his tongue in and out of the red-head, hearing him moan and tongue-fucking him even harder for it. The flesh of Mycroft’s arse surrounded his face and the brunet ground his face deeper, roughly pressing back. Greg retreated suddenly, smearing sloppy, hot, wet kisses all over the slushing cheeks, biting and licking and sucking and _growling_. 

Mycroft was a mess. He could handle when Gregory teased him; when he danced fingertips over his body and blew careful breaths over his heated skin, whispered gently nothings in his ear. He could tease him back, make flirty, sexy quips, maintain control of himself. He could handle that.

But what Mycroft _couldn’t_ handle was when Gregory _attacked_. When he was rough and vicious, relentless in his ravaging. When he was pressed up against the wall, held down by the weight of his lover’s body or held back by straps or cuffs. When Gregory took over completely, taking Mycroft’s body for his own and flooding his it with so much pleasure he thought he’d explode from it. It was all too easy for Mycroft to completely lose himself in it.

“Gregory, please, please, love, I need it, I need you,” Mycroft whimpered.

“I’ve got you, you’re mine,” the brunet growled, taking flesh between teeth and biting down.

“Not enough, please, Gregory,” he moaned as his boyfriend thrust his tongue back into the tight heat of his body. “Oh, fuuuuck!” Breath came even harsher as he felt Gregory retreat and stand, grabbing him by the hips and dragging him back, grinding the rough fabric of his jeans against the sensitive, swollen skin of his bum.

“Do you remember now, Myc?” Greg growled in his ear. His hands slid down and around his hips, following the curve where thigh met pelvis. “Do you remember where I had you? Red-faced, moaning, _aching_ for my cock?”

Mycroft whimpered, head falling heavily against the wood of the door.

“Fuck, yes, Gregory, I remember,” Mycroft breathed. He felt Gregory’s grin against the nape of his neck. Teeth nipped gently, so very gently. The ginger melted back into his arms.

“That’s right, luv,” Greg whispered, hands sliding lovingly all over his lover, in direct juxtaposition with the aggressive rimming he’d just delivered. It was just what he’d needed, though. Enough dominance to allow Mycroft to surrender to the tender vulnerability he wanted to see emanating from his partner. “Let’s get you to bed,” Greg rumbled, nosing behind his lover’s ear. “Let me take care of you.”

Submissive in his surrender, Mycroft was easily led to the bed, dropping his shirt and kicking out of his trousers and pants. He climbed on and crawled to the head, hands and knees, arse up in the air.

“You bloody tease,” Greg said with a grin, dropping his jeans and shucking his blue checked flannel off his shoulders. Mycroft merely smiled lazily at him, settling on his knees and shoulders, looking behind him to watch his lover’s hungry pursuit. 

Greg kneeled behind him for a moments, spreading cheeks and diving back in with his tongue. Liquid heat flooded through Mycroft, curling up his spine, diffusing through his body like a warm, red light. The hot mouth sealed over his hole slid down, swollen lips dragging over perineum before suckling on heavy bollocks. Mycroft moaned so hard and low his legs shook.

“Gregory, don’t make me wait.”

“Pushy, pushy,” he said with good natured growl, hurriedly grabbing the lube and pushing two fingers easily into his lover as he slicked his cock. Greg used three fingers to stretch Mycroft’s already tongue-loosened hole. Myc might have thought he was ready already, but Greg didn't take chances. Not with his boyfriend.

“Please, Gregory, I need it,” Mycroft begged, grinding his face into the duvet, searching for a distraction for the aching _want_ coursing through his blood.

“Myc, love, look at me,” Greg asked, his voice coming breathlessly from behind the ginger. Mycroft looked back, rising up and supporting his weight with his hands to he could turn his head and gaze at his lover. 

Gregory looked wrecked. His face was flushed and his eyes were dark. A pink blush stained his chest and the hair trailing down his stomach to his groin stood out in dark contrast. His lips were red and swollen, and his Adam’s apple bobbed as he pulled his fingers out and lined up his slick, heavy cock.

Mycroft’s mouth fell open on a silent moan as Gregory slowly pushed inside him, never looing anywhere but his lover’s lust-darkened eyes.

The trust was slow and smooth, carefully driving into the red-head, pressing inside and filling him up, not stopping until he was fully seated, hips flush against arse. The genius shuddered as Gregory carefully rocked his hips. The brunet’s mouth, previously hanging open, slack from the force of the pressure around his member, curved into a dangerous smile that had Mycroft whining before he even moved.

Pulling out completely, Greg drove back in with a vicious thrust. Mycroft cried out and fell forward, dropping his shoulders and face back to the bedspread, hands and feet scrambling across the surface, grasping desperately for purchase and Gregory drove into him over and over. The rhythm was brutal and rough and so fucking _perfect_ it made Mycroft’s toes curl and back arch. 

Their breaths grew harsh, as harsh as the thrusts that pushed the gasping men closer and closer to the edge. Each stroke grazed overtop of Mycroft’s prostate, keeping him hovering on the cusp of orgasm. 

“Oh, fuck, _Gregory,_ ” Mycroft groaned. And, by God, if that voice didn't sound exactly like sin to Greg Lestrade, he didn't know what did. His tempo increased, pressing down with each stroke to drive harder against that sensitive gland. Myc positively screamed from beneath him and the sound made Greg growl, the sound gruff and animalistic and absolutely devastating. Mycroft screamed again as Greg drove mercilessly down against his prostate, cursing with each blindingly fast thrust.

Pleasure pooled in Greg’s groin and sparked all over his skin. It shot through from his hair to his ankles, resounding in his cock as he thrust wildly into his lover’s arse. Sweat dripped down his neck and dropped from his nose, landing coolly on his partner’s red arsecheeks, flushed and reddened from friction and heat and Greg’s pounding hips. Greg’s strokes started to lose their fast, deep rhythm and he leaned down, smearing messy kisses over freckled shoulders and he slid his hand over a sweaty hip to curl around a blood-red cock.

“Fuck! Yes, God, yes! Please, Gregory,” Mycroft mewled, gasping against the duvet as his heavy cock was squeezed and stroked solidly from root to tip. “Please, fuck, Gregory, I’m so fucking close.”

Hearing Mycroft curse, hearing that posh pout form filthy words, pressing them into sweat-soaked sheets, Greg groaned again, taking a patch of freckles between his teeth as his lover thrashed underneath him. Curling his hand around the tip of Myc’s cock, he jerked him quickly and roughly, knowing it was want he wanted and needed him to come. 

“ _Fuck!_ ” Mycroft shouted, coming in Gregory’s hand. He clamped down around his lover’s cock, hard, his muscles in spasm as Gregory continued to fuck him through his orgasm.

The brunet’s own orgasm came fast and blinding; roaring through his body as Myc’s aftershocks milked every last drop from him. His skin tingled and his fingers curled punishingly into his lover’s pale hips and his forehead pressed between his shoulder blades. 

As they slowly came back to themselves, back to quivering muscles and hot, damp skin, and Greg fell down to lie next to his flushed partner. Mycroft’s legs slid from underneath him, dropping his body with a bounce against the mattress. The both let out extremely pleased groans as warm, glowing waves washed over their bodies. Greg turned to his lover with an exhaustedly sated grin, and Mycroft huffed a laugh, wiping spit from his face and he rolled from the wet blanket under him, leaving him pressed close to his boyfriend.

Greg gathered him up in his arms, and pressed a kiss to his sweaty, tousled hair. They were hot and sticky and really should shower, but there wasn’t a lot that Greg thought could convince him to leave this bed and the comfort of his partner’s presence.

“Love you,” he said quietly to the ceiling, eyes closed happily as he tightened his grip around the body next to him.

“And I, you, my dearest,” Mycroft murmured against Gregory’s chest, his cool breath dancing over hot skin.

“I hope we never get sick of this,” Greg said, not really expecting an answer.

“How could we ever?” his lover asked, pushing himself up onto an elbow, inspecting the brunet’s face. He lazily opened chocolate brown eyes to meet his genius’ gaze.

“You know how couples get. They get bored with each other and drift apart. I want to stay young and in love like John and Sherlock are now. I want to stay like this. With you. Forever.” Greg didn't blush when he confessed this deepest of wish. He merely locked eyes with his partner, and silently begged for his wish to be granted.

Mycroft shifted farther up Gregory’s body, his face hovering just above that of his spent boyfriend. He kissed him delicately, holding his gaze as their lips caught and held.

“Forever, then,” Mycroft agreed, before closing his eyes and kissing the love of his life with all the life he had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone was interested, I might be writing a Johnlock Aftermath chapter. So, stay posted and if you r interested check back in a week, hopefully I'll have something for you!


	3. Johnlock Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And here we have the last installment in what was supposed to be just a one-off. But that's just fine, this is added due to popular demand and I hope no one is left disappointed!

“And, see, this data is from that day in the park when I needed a sample of pond mud—”

“You mean when you fell in after chasing a bee and _pretended_ that it was all for a sample,” John joked.

“The way your mind warps reality will never cease to amaze me,” Sherlock said snottily, eyes glued to the journal before him, red flags of embarrassment flying high on his cheek bones. John just grinned, grinned with his whole body and soul, and kissed the sharp peak of bone and skin.

“Alright fine, all for a sample then,” he appeased. “What data could you have gotten from that? About us, I mean. Not the mud.”

“After you contained your misplaced laughter, you had a rather interesting reaction to seeing me in wet clothing.”

“I suppose so, if snogging you against a tree counts as an interesting reaction.”

“It does. I still don’t quite understand the relationship between the two.”

“You were wearing a white shirt that was suddenly completely see-through and clinging to you like a second skin. You’re damn right I’m going to snog you senseless.”

“Well,” Sherlock said, flipping a page in the journal nonchalantly. “That will require further testing.”

“That is an experiment I will happily participate in,” John said with a grin, leaning in close to his boyfriend. Both boys were lying on the ground in Sherlock’s enormously oversized bedroom, propped on their elbows, going through the record of their relationship one chart or graph at a time.

“This chart holds your reactions to different tactile stimulation.”

John was no longer trying to reach the book, merely watching Sherlock’s long fingers as they deftly flipped the pages.

“This is the Oral Stimulation chart.”

More rustling of paper, but John was watching Sherlock’s mouth now, as it moved around the words _oral stimulation_.

“This one is the same stimulation but to different parts of your body, and your reactions to each.” Sherlock looked over at John and his blazing gaze brought John out of his own head to focus again on this creepy but sweet version of a diary, the likes of which only his Sherlock could have.

“And what does your data tell you?” John asked, tongue flicking out over his lips. Sherlock followed the movement with quickly darkening eyes.

“I can show you,” he said, pushing John over onto his back and straddling his hips. “This particular data set was about your various reactions to trailing fingertips. Like so,” Sherlock said, lightly brushing his fingers down the length of John’s neck. The blonde smiled a small smile and closed his eyes, humming in contentment. Just like the journal said he would.

Sherlock’s hand shook ever so slightly as it traced lazy paths up and down the tan neck that was so trustingly bared to him. “If I touch you here,” he said, voice quivering slightly as he lowered his hand to brush down along John’s forearm. “Your fingers will flex and you’ll goosebump all the way up to your shoulder.”

He wasn’t wrong.

“If I touch you here it will tickle.” His hands trailed down over John’s sides.

John flinched away, giggling.

“If I touch you here you’ll smile at me and put your hands on my thighs.” Sherlock’s hands traced hearts over John’s chest, and John’s hands had risen off the floor to his knees before the brunet had even finished his sentence.

“And if I touch you here,” Sherlock asked, moving one hand to brace himself on the floor by Johns head, the other floated down John’s stomach to trace along the trail of hair beneath his navel. John’s eyes closed. “If I touch you here,” Sherlock said again, leaning down to brush his lips up John’s neck. “You’ll ask me to kiss you.”

John opened his eyes to see Sherlock’s right above him, sharp and beautiful in the low light.

“Kiss me,” he answered faithfully, grabbing his friend by the hip and hair and pressing their lips together. Sherlock melted against him, pulling his hands up to cup his boyfriend’s jaw, carefully resting his weight on John’s strong and broad chest.

Sherlock’s mouth opened warmly over John’s, inviting that talented and tricky tongue to slide alongside his own. They kissed for long, lazy minutes, sharing breath in an easy and slow rhythm. Their gentle dance picked up, however, when John’s hand slid from hip to arse and a bite on the lip was paired with a roll of the hips.

Sherlock gasped and his hand shot out to support himself on the floor as John’s hips thrust up again, pushing him forward with their force. He moaned as he ground down against the hard line of John’s cock, trapped behind denim.

“Bed?” John gasped. His face was flushed and the hand on Sherlock’s arse was gripping firmly. The hand in his hair, however, was perfectly gentle as it played with dark locks and slid over his pale throat. He looked up at Sherlock with a dark kind of hunger. It made Sherlock’s pulse speed and his palms sweat.

_‘But how many people has John looked at like that before?’_

The thought occurred before Sherlock could stop it, and ever-attentive John saw it immediately on Sherlock’s face.

“What is it?” John asked, instantly going soft and gentle and caring. He sat up under Sherlock, the hand on his bottom guiding him to stay in his lap before brushing up his side to rub along his back. “Was that too fast?’ he asked, his voice quiet and careful, not a hint of rough arousal remaining.

“No, that was fine,” Sherlock assured as he frowned at himself, his thoughts slightly scattered by the sudden change in atmosphere. “I liked that.”

“So what went wrong?” John asked kindly, hands gentle, as lust was beaten back and tamed by love.

“Nothing, nothing is wrong.”

“’Lock, I saw your face, something was wrong,” John said strongly, knowing his boyfriend well enough to know he’d lie about his own wellbeing to get out of an awkward conversation.

“I just had a thought,” Sherlock said flippantly, leaning back in John’s lap and looking over his shoulder. John spent enough time listening to Sherlock’s deductions to recognize subconscious distancing when he saw it.

“Hey, you,” he chided, wrapping his arms strongly around the thin boy and tugging him closer to him. “Don’t go anywhere.”

Sherlock sighed and rested his head on John’s shoulder, long legs curving around to cross behind his back, effectively locking John in a cage of lanky limbs. 

“Gonna tell me what’s going on in that beautiful brain of yours?” John asked, pressing kisses all along Sherlock’s narrow, cotton-covered shoulder.

The genius took a deep breath. He knew John wouldn’t let this go, that he would worry about him. Sherlock usually liked that John worried about him.

But this, this would have to be said.

Sherlock sighed.

“I just thought about all the other people you’ve looked at like that.”

John stilled for a second, his face curving into a deep frown before he resumed stroking down his partner’s knobby spine and rubbing through his dark hair.

“Like what?” he asked.

“Like you just looked at me. Like you always look at me.” Sherlock responded in a quiet voice.

“Oh, love,” John said with a sigh. Sherlock sat up to better study his face. He couldn’t afford to miss any important data. John smiled at him kindly, eyes shining with unbridled love and affection. “I’ve never looked at anyone the way I look at you.”

“Not like that,” Sherlock said, rolling his eyes even as his cheeks blushed prettily at the compliment paid to him.

“Then like what?” John asked, thumbing across a pink cheek, brushing his lips across its twin.

“Like you want me,” Sherlock said, shyly looking away from John’s open and honest face.

John was quite for a bit. His hands continued to soothe over his partner, but he didn’t immediately launch into praises and devotions like he was supposed to. After a moment of silence, Sherlock risked a glance up. John was frowning again. This time, though, it was a sad frown.

“This is about the other people I’ve been with?” he asked, already knowing the answer. Sherlock nodded a very small, almost not even there nod. John sighed again. This time, though, it was a sad sigh. “I’m sorry, Sherlock.”

“Why are you sorry?” Sherlock asked. Confusion lined his brow the way it almost never did, unless he was trying to understand people’s emotions.

“I’m sorry that I can’t give to you what you gave to me,” John said honestly, looking at Sherlock with wide, deep blue eyes. “But I can promise you that I’ve never looked at anyone the way I look at you. Because I’ve never been in love with anyone before. I never loved any of those other people. Never. You’re the only guy I’ve ever loved. And the only person I’ll ever want to be with. Sherlock, I promise.” Sherlock listened intently, their fingers twined between them, studying John’s face as he spoke, seeing nothing but love in every word. John’s eyes were heartbreakingly open and sincere as he continued. “I know we’re young, and they say we’ll never last, but I’m sure that you’re the only person I’ll love like this. And I don’t care that you’re a bloke, because you’re a hundred times hotter than any girl I’ve ever been with and none of the other blokes even compare to you. I know I’ve been a bit of a slag these last couple years, and you probably deserve a hell of a lot better. But I can promise that I’ll be as good to you as I can. I look at you different than I’ve ever looked at anyone, because I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone.”

“And you do love me?” Sherlock asked, just so he could hear it said again.

“Yes, I love you, Sherlock. I’ll say it a thousand times if you need me to.” John’s hands came to cup his boyfriend’s face, pulling him forward to press their foreheads together. “I’ll never love anyone the way I love you. I’m yours.”

Sherlock shivered in his arms, fingers curling against strong shoulders, Sherlock tilted his face, asking for a kiss. John complied, tipping his head to reach his lover’s mouth in a life-affirming meeting of lips. It was just as slow as before, but so much stronger from the force of their feeling for each other. Sherlock tightened his legs around John’s waist and John gripped harder around the genius’ back, holding each other impossibly close. The brunet reached his tongue into John’s mouth, pressing in deep, staking a claim. John moaned around him, teeth trapping tongue and sucking. His arm clamped around Sherlock’s hips like a vice grip, and he waited for John to pull his hips down, grinding against him. There was a whole page in the journal devoted to all the things John liked to do when Sherlock was straddling his lap.

But none of those scenarios played out. He could feel the tension in John’s body, the hard line of his cock under Sherlock’s arse, the insistent press of lips and tongue and teeth. The taller boy could feel the passion in John’s mouth but his whole body spoke of restraint.

He was waiting for Sherlock to make the move. The realization washed over Sherlock like wet heat. He shuddered and dragged in a hitching breath, pushing against John’s chest.

“My bed, right now,” Sherlock ordered, eyes black and voice dark. John growled, arms clamping around his lover’s narrow back, hands sliding under his arse as John got his feet underneath him and stood. Sherlock clung to John’s shoulders as he continued to devour his mouth, legs tightening around his waist. The trust Sherlock was showing, allowing himself to be hauled up into the air and carried blindly across the room, John felt it like a hug around his heart. He held Sherlock closer and kissed him harder.

When his knees hit the mattress, John let go, watching nine stone of boney limbs and sinewy muscle bounce twice on the dark blue duvet. He stood, watching Sherlock crawl back on the bed, eyes dark, lips swollen, one hand reaching behind him for a pillow, the other popping the button on his thousand quid designer jeans. He settled himself, dead center of the four poster bed, a pillow cradling his dark curls, knees spread invitingly, creamy skin flushed pink.

“You look comfy,” John said with a grin. Sherlock grinned back.

“Care to join me?” the pale boy asked, lazily undoing the buttons of his wine red shirt. John just grinned at him again, reaching out and snagging an ankle. Sherlock squeaked as he was drug back to the edge of the bed, head bouncing on the mattress. John pushed knobby knees out of the way as he bent over his lover, pressing him down into the blankets. Sherlock’s feet fell to the ground and he knotted his fingers in John’s hair.

“You know what the benefit is of being with someone who has some experience?” John asked, scarping his teeth down the corded tendons of his lover’s long, pale neck.

Sherlock released a breathy moan that sort of sounded like a “what?” John chuckled, his chest rumbling against his boyfriend’s.

“I already know a few tricks,” John said, whispering wickedly in his ear, hand sliding down hot skin to slip beneath black pants. Sherlock gasped as John’s hand closed round his aching erection, touched by another’s hand for only the second time in his sixteen years.

“Please,” he groaned, hips jerking as John stroked him excruciatingly slowly.

“Don’t worry, love,” John cooed, sliding down and pushing open Sherlock's shirt to lave attention over one pert, pink nipple. “I’ll take care of you.”

John slid to his knees at the edge of the bed, yanking jeans and pants down with him. Pulling them completely off predictably bare feet, John mouthed his way up the inside of one long, lean thigh. He nuzzled his face into the crease where thigh met groin and pressed a kiss to the base of Sherlock’s cock. The genius’ hands flew back to John’s hair, burying roughly in the flaxen strands. John covered Sherlock’s cock in wet, hot kisses, trailing them up and down the shaft but never touching the head. When he licked a firm line all the way along his frenulum Sherlock howled, nearly ripping John’s hair out. Finally taking pity on the writhing and sweating genius before him, John took Sherlock slowly into his mouth.

Hands on his hips, holding his bucking thrusts to a minimum, John slowly slid his lips down to the base of his red cock. Sherlock stopped breathing as John slowly took him in, groaning violently when his cock hit the back of John’s throat.

“ _Jawn_ ,” he moaned, hands tight on John’s hair. He felt John’s lips curve slightly around the base of his cock, his tongue sliding back and forth across his length before carefully swallowing around the head. “Fuck!” Sherlock cried, his hips jolting against John’s face.

The blonde sputtered and pulled off, Sherlock’s hands falling to his side with a desperate mewl.

“Jeez, ‘Lock, I mean I’m good but I can only do so much.” He joked, wiping spit from his chin as he continued to stroke Sherlock’s length.

“’M sorry,” Sherlock mumbled, his hands clenching in the blankets. “Couldn’t help it. Where did you learn to do that?”

“Don’t worry ‘bout it, love. It’s all for you now,” John said, grinning up at him over his pale and heaving chest before descending back down onto Sherlock’s aching prick. He took it deep again, before quickly sliding back to the head, tongue swirling and cheeks hollowed. Sherlock was helpless in the face of this new and relentless rhythm. His toes curled and his fingers twisted in the dark blue duvet.

“Fuck, John, oh God,” he whined, writhing on the bed, a dark red flush spreading across his chest and up his neck. He sucked his bottom lips between his teeth, gnawing it as moans poured up out of his throat. Sweat beaded on his brow and his skin crawled with heat. Heat that slithered up his back, sparked across his ribs and buzzed in his head. It pooled in his groin, liquid heat settling at the base of his spine and he knew he was getting close.

John flickered his tongue along the frenulum, pressing the head up against his soft palate and Sherlock bucked again. John angled his head and took him down again, going with the thrust and taking him to the hilt.

“Close, John, so close,” Sherlock ground out, eyes squeezed tightly shut, every muscle tense as he fought to hold back the onslaught of sensation, trying to prolong the pleasure. All willpower was absolutely demolished, however, when John took him deep into his throat and swallowed around the head again.

A strong arm across his hips held his steady and grounded as Sherlock screamed his orgasm, arching off the bed and grasping widely at John’s head, grinding against his face as John swallowed his come, working him through the aftershocks. When Sherlock finally relaxed, body collapsing heavily against the bed, John pulled off with a heaving breath, his face red and his lips swollen.

“Good?” he asked breathlessly.

“Nnngh,” was his only response, the pale genius reaching for him with one hand, his head lolling to one side.

John adjusted himself in his jeans before standing to lean over his lover. He pressed a chaste kiss to bitten lips, before nuzzling his nose against a high, flushed cheekbone. Sherlock mumbled something.

“Hmm?” John asked. “What was that?”

“I said I want to try that,” Sherlock said, only slightly slurred.

“Fuck, yes, please,” John groaned, grinding his very much not-forgotten erection against the side of the mattress. “How ‘bout you start slow though, hm? I don’t want you hurting yourself. And honestly, it won’t take very much to get me off, not after hearing the sound you make when you come.” John groaned again. “Fuuuck, that was gorgeous.”

Sherlock merely smiled, his blush hiding with the sex-flush his face still held.

“C’mere,” he said, gesturing lazily to his face. John merely chuckled, quickly shucking his jeans and pants, squeezing his long and thick member. John got onto the bed, carefully straddling his lover and crawling up his body. He straddled his hips and Sherlock hooked a hand around his neck, pulling him down for a long, lazy kiss. Sherlock sighed happily into his boyfriend’s mouth before pushing up on his chest and pulling him forward by the hip.

John settled carefully on Sherlock’s chest, making sure not to kneel on the open sides of his hundred quid shirt before reaching past him to grab the pillow to drag under his lover’s head. Sherlock happily settled against it, tugging at John’s hips until he cock bobbed against his cheek. Sherlock wrapped one hand around it, licking up the underside, admiring its length and heft. John stroked his cheek with one adoring hand, his fingers gently carding through his hair as Sherlock took the head into his mouth.

Sherlock made the inside of his mouth as soft and hot as possible, stroking the length of John’s cock with one hand, the other sliding along his thigh. John moaned, his head dropping back, eyes fluttering shut. His hips twitched, pushing slightly into Sherlock’s mouth. Sherlock hummed an encouragement, tightly stroking the rest of his prick. John’s head lolled until he met the heavy-lidded cerulean gaze suckling gently on his cock, pupils still blown wide in post-orgasmic bliss. Sherlock’s long-fingered hand tugged once on John’s hip, and John took the invitation. With Sherlock’s hand wrapped securely around the base, John trusted himself to thrust just the head of his cock into Sherlock’s hot, hot mouth.

Planting his hands on the bed above Sherlock’s head, John pushed just an inch into his boyfriend’s mouth, whimpering as the detective hummed, lips wet and mouth open. Sherlock sucked lightly, keeping his mouth soft as John carefully pushed in and pulled out, shallow thrusts that had him inching closer to the edge of orgasm. As Sherlock’s hand picked up speed on his shaft, John had to keep himself from thrusting too deep. The next time Sherlock hummed, his quick tongue flicking out over the head of his cock, John knew he was impossibly close.

“Fuck,” he gasped, sitting back on his heels, his cock leaving Sherlock’s red, wet mouth with an obscene pop. “Close,” he breathed as Sherlock continued to stroke him.

“So come,” Sherlock said, his voice low and smooth. John stilled his hand and huffed a laugh even as he shivered with pleasure.

“Not gonna come on your face,” he said with a smile so easy and adoring Sherlock felt his heart swell. “Not gonna do that do you.”

“Because you love me,” Sherlock affirmed with another easy, post-orgasmic smile, his hand taking up a lazy stroke along John’s length.

“Yes, because I love you, and no one likes having their face come on.” John smiled.

“You can come in my mouth,” Sherlock offered, reaching his head up to lick teasingly against the slit, looking up from under his lashes to meet John’s open-mouthed gaze.

“Fuck, Sherlock,” he groaned, wrapping his hand around Sherlock’s and squeezing his cock tightly as he was assaulted by the sound, sight and feel of Sherlock offering his mouth. It took him a moment to get himself back under control “I don’t think you’d like that, love. And I don’t want to ruin your bliss by choking you.”

Sherlock pouted beneath him, his swollen lip poking out.

“But it was good, wasn’t it?” he asked, completely unconcerned that a long, hard cock was bobbing inches from his face. “I did well, didn't I?”

“Fuck, Sherlock, that was perfect,” John said, running his fingers back through inky curls. “Exactly how I like it, hot and wet and soft, fuck, it was perfect.” John groaned again, gently rocking once more into Sherlock’s still open mouth. “You’re perfect,” he whispered, their entwined hands continuing the slow slide along his cock. “But I’d really rather come while kissing that perfect mouth, if that’s alright.”

Sherlock nodded, and shimmed farther up the bed, letting John stretch out beside him. He wrapped an arm around John’s neck, pulling him in to press sliding, wet kisses over his lips. He gripped John’s cock with one hand, pulling smoothly and thumbing over the tip. The blonde shuddered. His hand joined Sherlock’s and he whispered his name against his lips.

Stroking together, Sherlock’s post-orgasmic bliss was multiplied by the needy whimpers slipping from John’s mouth into his, his whispered pleas and praises.

“Fuck, Sherlock,” he murmured against the skin of his cheek as the pressed their brows together. Sherlock twisted his fist and tipped his head to meet John’s lips, reaching with his tongue to catch John’s as he growled his release into their joined hands, several spurts escaping to paint Sherlock’s dark pubic hair white. “ _Fuck_ ,” John bit out, his body jerking against his lean genius’. As his body shivered with reverberations, Sherlock wiped his hand on the blanket, completely uncaring about the obvious stain and wrapped his arms and legs around his boyfriend.

“Love you,” John mumbled against his pale, marble shoulder.

“I love you, too, John,” Sherlock sighed. “Can you stay?”

“Why, you wanna cuddle?” John asked with a sleepily giggle.

“You know I don’t like that word,” Sherlock grumbled even as he pushed and prodded his lover up to the head of the bed, shucking his sweat-dampened shirt and tugging John's jumper over his head in the process.

“Fine, love, come bask with me,” John said with a sleepy grin, pulling the dark covers over his pale lover, nuzzling his face down into sweaty curls. Sherlock curled up in John’s arms, long legs wrapping around stronger ones, and buried his face in his boyfriend’s neck.

“Can I enter this into the journal?” Sherlock asked in an adorably sleepy voice.

“Later,” John promised, tugging his lanky lover closer and slowly falling asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> This could probably have been rated as Teen, but depending on reader response, I might add a couple smutty chapters to the end of it, so you all can see what the boys get up to afterwards :) But because of the sexual jargon this little one-shot contains, I wanted to put it as Mature so I wouldn't run the isk of scarring some poor kid for life when they googled 'rimming.'


End file.
